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May I borrow a blanket?
It’s turned so cold outside that the falling snow
has stopped falling, and now it’s hurtling toward Earth
at an alarming rate, pelting the ground
like tiny bullets from an imaginary gun.
The snow is ice now. I’m afraid to step outside
because I think I might shatter under the clouds,
freeze brittle until the sleet touches my arm
and pieces of me scatter everywhere.
Would you be so kind as to lend me a blanket?
I need a typewriter, too, because my pencil
can’t seem to keep up with the thoughts
leaking out of my head. And a flashlight,
because it’s getting darker and darker and
I can hardly see my hand in front of my face.
Maybe a candle, then, because it’s getting cold too.
Which brings me back to my original question –
do you have a blanket I may borrow?
I think I’m making up excuses now,
but I’d really like to see you and tell you
I think the sky is falling,
or at least parts of it anyway.
The snow – ice – is getting louder and
louder and louder – I can’t think,
I can’t even hear myself enough to think
and maybe if you have a blanket heavy enough
I can drape it over my head and block out the sound.
December 26th has always been my least favorite date,
but I think it would be better if you were here too.
You could watch me type; you could laugh at me
when I shrink away from the sound the ice makes
Shuddering off the window near my head.
You could hold the flashlight for me while I type.
And you could smile and your sugar-crackle blue-gray eyes
could give me something to write about
when I lose my train of thought, staring at you.